Day 44, July 18
We were both happy to leave the next morning. We spoke little as we made our way southwest toward Boulder. Although it would have been much more direct to ride straight west to Rocky Mountain National Park, we were drawn to Boulder. We heard it was a great town, and we had to see it. We pedaled south along Route 85, turned west on Route 66, and then south through Longmont toward Boulder.
We could now see the Rockies as we rode. We wondered if we should be scared. We knew they were much higher than anything we had crossed back east. They certainly looked higher, and more menacing, than the gentle Appalachians. We were also a little afraid of the altitude. We were now at 5,000 feet, as we had been gradually climbing since we left the Mississippi. These high plains were higher than all but the highest peaks back east. Mt. Rogers, which we passed in Virginia, is the highest point in that state, at 5700 feet. From my aviation training, I knew the effects of anoxia, or oxygen deprivation, at high altitudes. But this would be different. Although not at the highest altitudes at which I had trained, we would be exerting ourselves, climbing with laden bicycles up steep mountain roads. Although I knew the grades wouldn’t be as steep as we had encountered in the east, these new grades would be almost endless by comparison. Approaching those mountain passes gradually, indirectly, began making more sense. The 50 miles from Greeley to Boulder passed easily.
Boulder was everything we had been lead to believe. It was full of people, shops, activity. A pedestrian mall was packed with friendly people, tourists, street musicians. We walked our bikes amid the crowds, and seemed to fit right in with our ragged T shirts, cut off jeans, old tennis shoes. My hair was long and badly kept, while Inanna’s was always nicely brushed.
We found a bike shop and went in. I wondered if they had anything to pad my handlebars. I had been leaning on my hands so much that my fingers were going numb. They did have something, but it was way too expensive for our budget. Around the corner we found a sewing shop. They sold us quilting for a quarter that we wrapped around the handlebars. It seemed to pad them quite nicely. We would see how long it would last.
We came to a town square and stopped for a while, watching the people pass by. We bought milkshakes and enjoyed them while we watched. I was worried about my hands, and the pain and numbness. Buying 25 cents worth of cheap material seemed like a desperate thing to do.
As we drank our milkshakes, I couldn’t tell Inanna about the time I hurt so much that I couldn't ride at all. This is because it hadn’t happened yet. It began in 1999, almost 22 years later.
***
It had started out foggy and cool. I had to wipe my glasses several times to be able to see the bicycles ahead of me. We couldn’t see the houses back from the road, or much other scenery. But I was riding another MS 150. A year earlier I might have told you I would never do one again.
I had ridden three of these 150-mile fund-raisers for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. I always asked my friends and neighbors to contribute and support my ride. But in April of 1999 I developed a strange, intense pain in my left shoulder after a flight back from Ohio. The pain spread quickly to my neck and right shoulder, then down my back. Soon my neck was so stiff I couldn’t turn it left or right. I was unable to ride in the 1999 MS 150 that May, and I wondered what else I was gong to lose.
The chiropractor couldn’t help, and neither could the acupuncturist. My GP referred me to a rheumatologist who couldn’t diagnose it, even after x-rays and a bone scan. But he did find a medicine that controlled the pain—or perhaps most of it. Indomethecin, it was called, and it was known to damage the stomach. A second rheumatologist did diagnose my illness, using DNA analysis. I had Reiter’s Syndrome, or reactive arthritis, which is an auto-immune reaction to infection. Only a tiny population is pre-disposed to get this disease. I had never heard of it. But with the diagnosis came no cure. I began taking antibiotics along with something to protect me from the Indomethecin.
Although the pain and stiffness in my neck and shoulders were mostly under control now because of the medicine, the disease spread to my feet. My heels were inflamed, as were two joints on my left foot. I was referred to a physical therapist who put me through 2 months of thrice-weekly flexibility and strength exercises, and the feet stayed the same while my left knee became swollen to twice its normal size. I couldn’t get off the floor without holding on to something. I could barely walk—usually only taking steps half my normal stride.
The next spring came up, and the MS 150 was out of the question. I just wanted to survive. I did get a new job, a much better one, and I was thankful that my new employer didn’t take a good look at how I walked—or if they did, that they didn’t hold it against me. At work, I was definitely not my best. I was still trying to go to the YMCA and work out every day. It hurt to have to reduce the weights on the weight circuit. I kept wondering which weight I would have to reduce next.
Then, on the first of October 2000, came worse news. A bleeding ulcer, caused by the medicine I had been taking. My doctors had told me it would happen eventually—but I was hoping it wouldn’t be for a long time. I had never had stomach trouble. Now my rheumatologist took me off Indomethecin, and told me I could take nothing stronger than Tylenol. I asked him if there was a diet for this arthritis pain. He said no, there was no diet for this. He then referred me for treatment of the bleeding ulcer
My new GP put me on more medicine, this time for the ulcer. He assured me the ulcer would be healed quickly as long as I took no more Indomethecin. But within a couple days my neck was hurting so badly that I started to get really scared.
I took my daughter Shannon to the library that Saturday afternoon so she could work on a school project. I sat there trying to read a book on management. My neck hurt so much I couldn’t concentrate. I kept massaging my neck and wondering what I should do. A voice inside me said “You don’t need to be reading about management. You need to be reading about arthritis.”
I went to the card catalogue (which is a computer now) and looked up arthritis. A title jumped out at me. How to Eat Away Arthritis by Lauri M. Aesoph. I wrote down the number and went to find it. Usually I don’t find books I need. But there it was. I took it and went back to the table to read.
Fast for two days, it said. Then eat nothing but apples. When you get back to eating other foods, eliminate all chemicals (like artificial sweeteners and preservatives, caffeine and alcohol). Eliminate all refined flour and sugar. Eliminate milk products, fatty meats, and even nightshade vegetables (tomatoes, peppers, etc.). Then after the pain is resolved, trying adding a few things back in, one at a time, to learn your individual reaction to them. She had pages of testimonials from arthritis sufferers who had experienced great results from the diet. But it was confusing. How do you fast? How long do you eat apples?
I can’t fast, anyway. But we had some apples at home, so that evening I went on the apple diet. I sat in my Lazy Boy, feeling in some sort of shock, really quite terrified, and out of desperation started eating apples. Apples that night, apples for breakfast. Apples for lunch. My wife, Mary, went out and bought more apples, and I had apples for dinner. Luckily, October is a good month for apples, and I have always found a good crunchy apple quite delicious. Sunday night, as I went to bed, I noticed I felt quite a bit better. The pain in my neck was at least 50% less.
I started eating apples for breakfast and dinner, and salads for lunch. The pain continued to abate, although my feet were still a real problem. And now I had another worry. My boss wanted me to spend 8 days on the road. I would travel to L. A., get to visit my parents in San Diego, then travel to Northern Virginia, upstate New York and South Carolina. How would I be able to walk through all those airports? I imagined myself riding in those carts they reserve for old people and handicapped people. But I was feeling a little better each day. I loaded up on apples and fresh vegetables and went to the airport.
I was able to walk through L. A. International without a handicapped cart! I spent a half day on my feet Saturday morning, then drove to my parents’ 55th wedding anniversary in San Diego. My brothers and parents noticed me limping, but to me things were better than they had been for months. My Mom suggested I add MSM and digestive enzymes to my regimen, which I still do. I ate fish and salad at the big dinner, had a lot of laughs with my family, then flew back east. I was eating from a plastic bag of celery and broccoli, refusing airline food, and feeling a little better each day. When I finally returned the following Friday night, I was charged up about everything.
I spent the rest of the month eating salads, fish, a little chicken, vegetables, and of course apples. Things continued to improve. Then, on Halloween night, as the Trick-or-Treaters were coming to the door, I ate some candy and two pieces of pizza. Within an hour the pain was back in my neck. But I felt better the next morning, and swore I wouldn’t get off the diet again.
In November I went back to my GP and he told me my ulcer was resolved. I also went back to my rheumatologist and he was amazed. He pronounced me cured. He said I didn’t need to set any more appointments. I told him he should recommend this diet to his patients, and he asked for the book title and author. I couldn’t remember it and told him I would call him back.
As the weeks passed, I found myself relaxing the diet more and more. By May, I was eating good breakfasts 100% of the time, good lunches and dinners 75%, and having bad snacks rarely—and I had not had even one diet soda in six months. My symptoms were so reduced that it was hard to tell them from normal aches and pains of aging.
But I never called my rheumatologist back. Why? I guess I didn’t really believe I was cured. Two years of illness had left me in a kind of shock. We would see if I was really cured. But how would I know? In January came the notice of the next MS 150, to be ridden May 19 and 20. That’s how I would know. If I could ride 150 miles on a bicycle in two days, I would consider myself cured. Then I would tell him about the book, and the diet.
*
I was really doing it! As we left the starting place at the Suffolk Airport, I was riding through a crowd of cyclists, getting through the start, trying to find a pace line. Some riders were much too fast for me, some were too slow. I weaved through the individual riders. For several minutes, I was also an individual. But then along came a line of 6 or 7 riders, going a little faster than me, but not too much faster. I jumped into line at the end, and that wonderful phenomenon happened again, just like I knew it would. My speed jumped from 15 to 20 miles per hour. I was drafting on them, and my speed jumped 33% with only a tiny extra expenditure of energy.
I rode with them for most of the first leg. We chatted a little, but it isn’t easy to talk with a person whose back is turned to you—or to a person behind you. We griped a little about the fog, about not being able to see the scenery.
At the first rest stop, I let that pace line get away from me by resting too long. At the rest stops, there are always lots of spring water, high carbohydrate snacks, bananas, and porta-potties. I stretched out, loaded back up on water, and headed out. Soon another group came up, going even faster. I got into line. Now I was going 21, 22 miles per hour. But this became tiring, and after 8 miles or so I had to drop back. Then it was time to bicycle alone.
I got into another line after the next rest stop, and met Maurice. He was a muscular African-American in a tight-fitting, matching cycling outfit. He had a shiny bike with his name hand-lettered onto it. He was full of spirit, passing us, dropping back, cheering us on, challenging us, making jokes, even singing religious songs. I followed him for a little ways, and he was off again. I was to see Maurice many times over the two days, because he was so noticable—he was striking-looking, loud, good-natured, and in no hurry to finish. He would drop back to be with people he enjoyed, chatting, waiting a long time at rest stops, then he would pass everyone again.
It was not hard that morning. There was no wind, no headwinds to struggle with. There was no sunshine, so we didn’t overheat. Once, three years earlier, it had gotten up to 97 degrees and I had become dehydrated. That was the day I learned to force fluids at every rest stop. If I ever left a stop without urinating, I was becoming dehydrated. But today, there was little chance of that. If anything, it might become too cold. And there was a forecast of thunderstorms in the afternoon and evening, and perhaps rain tomorrow for the ride back.
There are always 7 rest stops, with about 10 miles between them. The middle stop is lunch. Lunch is always the same: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and pasta salad. The bread wasn’t whole wheat and I am sure had preservatives in it, but I ate and sat in a comfortable outside chair with arms on it.
It is called lunch because it is halfway to the destination—but it usually comes at about 9:30 or 10 AM, because we start at 7 AM and have had breakfast at home an hour or more before that. We are happy to sit and eat. Then we stretch and get back on those bicycle seats.
After lunch the griping begins in earnest. The most common gripe is about our sore fannies. Some people have sore hands, numb hands, or numb-nuts. Some are getting just plain winded. For me, however, there was also the problem with my back and neck. To ride a road bike you have to get into an aerodynamic position, hands down low on the “drops” (the lower part of the handlebars), while the seat is raised to allow for a full leg extension for power. My lower back and neck have always bothered me in that position. But on recent practice rides it was worse than ever. I found I could stretch out my neck the opposite way by forcing my chin to my chest and holding it there. That had the disadvantage of not letting me see the road ahead of me. But I could give everything a good look first and it would work. The back was a tougher nut to crack. I had gone to a chiropractor to fix the back, and had taken a preventive dose of 800 mg of ibuprophen before the ride started. Now I found that when I dropped down into the full aerodynamic position, the pain returned. But with my hands on the top part of the handlebars, the pain stayed away. For a while.
As the day wore on, the faster riders were well past me, and the slower ones were well back. That’s when I rode alone, or with one other person. I met several nice people to chat with—a Navy radioman from Pennsylvania, a man named Jim who worked for an insurance company, a Baptist youth minister from Richmond named Mark. Sometimes we would ride side by side so we could talk. There was no use in hurrying, now. We were tired, and no more pace lines would be passing us that we could perhaps join.
The sun did come out that afternoon, and it was a very nice day. Finally it was hot enough to remind us we were working. The sweat was dripping down my face onto my glasses. I cleaned them at a rest stop and noticed that the sun now